


There Oughta Be a Law

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney is very cranky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Oughta Be a Law

**Author's Note:**

  * For [esteefee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/gifts).



> ...because I deserve it. :) There oughta be a law against being sick and having your girly time on the same DAY! I am v. cranky, and find myself demanding STOREES. I wanted cranky Rodney and John making him feel better! So, um. There. 
> 
> x-posted to LJ and tumblr, but this is my archive _in extremis_.

Rodney is exceedingly cranky after a long day of trying to solve the wormhole drive computations, and there is nothing, absolutely _nothing_ wrong with his equations, thank you very much, so why his sims have failed six times running, he can't understand; there is no logical explanation; he's been through the code until his eyeballs glaze over and itch.

He's hollowed out from exhaustion, but if he eats another PowerBar he'll be able to fart "O Canada," all four verses. In English _and_ French. So, even though he goddamned hates, despises, absolutely detests leaving the lab for the night with something half-assed and unfinished, he can't keep his eyes open anymore, and face planting on the keyboard won't help matters. 

It also doesn't help his mood one fat little bit that Sheppard has been MIA the past two days, gone off joy-riding with Lorne and the other Air Force yahoos who've been flagged to test out the new F-302s that have been allocated to Atlantis. Sure, Sheppard showed up for all of ten minutes yesterday, hair a ridiculous paean to untold G-forces and trumpeting his glee, his eyes almost black with a maniacal adrenaline response. He'd swooped into the lab babbling something about diamond rolls, sneak passes and pulling off a _Fleur de Lis_. Then he'd laughed like a hyena on steroids while trying to demonstrate with a couple of pens stolen from Rodney's desk before bouncing out again with a cool, "Catch ya later, McKay."

But it's late now, and maybe the idiot will be done with his death-defying antics, and it's that thought that finally gets Rodney to save and shut down for the night, monitors fizzing out with a static crackle. He trudges back to his own quarters, because frankly he's too exhausted and cranky to think of going anywhere but to his own, luxurious bed with its three hypoallergenic pillows, Egyptian cotton sheets, and ultra-firm mattress. 

None of which, of course, do him any good whatsoever as he lies there with his brain circling over and over the problem, which is that so many of Atlantis' systems, especially as pertains to the gate, are a complete black box. It's like trying to diagnose a patient over the telephone—press your fingers against your stomach; does that hurt? Y/N. Well, the DHD sequencing algorithm works perfectly well—if Atlantis is a fixed point on a planet in orbit. Fine. Fine. If only Rodney had access to the original algorithm he could—

His door swishes open with no fanfare and in saunters Colonel Flyboy. "Hey, Rodney. How's tricks?"

"Oh, I'm just peachy." Rodney is in no mood for Sheppard's smug-happy face and his bouncing-happy energy as he walks over to Rodney's desk and starts poking—"Hey, stop touching my stuff! Those are very delicate—oh." Rodney deflates when John holds up Rodney's scissors and waves them before putting them back down on the desk.

"You're in a pissy mood."

Rodney scowls. "Am not."

"Yup. Pissy, feeling lousy, ticked off—what's got your boxers in a bunch?"

"If you must know, I'm at a hard stop on my computations for the wormhole drive and I can't think of any new approaches to solving it."

Sheppard nods sympathetically. "That's tough, buddy. Have you tried putting it in reverse?"

If glares could kill, John Sheppard would rightfully be a dead man. "That is so not helpful." 

"I know." Sheppard's eyes are bright with mischief, and he strolls over to Rodney's bed and just keeps on coming, kneeling on top and then crawling over Rodney and hovering on top of him. "I've got some other ideas, though."

"Do you, now?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Rodney affects disinterest, but it's difficult with John braced over him, neck and shoulders flexing, eyes squinting with mirth. He smells slightly of engine oil but mostly of a mix of Aqua Velva and his own scent, a combination Rodney would categorically deny has any power of attraction over him if it weren't for the fact his hard-on has just poked its way out of the slit in his boxers. Especially, God, most especially when John lowers his hips slowly to the side, so his chest rests on top of Rodney's but his hand is free to—

"Oh! Ahhh, um." Rodney says, not very coherently.

"Right," John says, thumbing at Rodney's foreskin so it slides around deliciously, right over that bundle of nerves that feels so, so very good. "That's what I was thinking," John adds. "But maybe you're too PO'd?"

"What? No, no, I—erg." Rodney chokes a little when John tightens his grip just right and starts stroking him, nice and easy.

"If you're sure."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Positive?"

"Absolutely." Rodney nods fervently, and John grins down at him and bites a kiss on his lower lip, tugging at it. 

"Cool," John says, and eels around, so damned flexible, to put his mouth on Rodney's cock. 

Rodney doesn't say much after that. His brain goes a little bit offline, all processors pegging out on the feel of John's warm, wet mouth and sly tongue, on the grip of his hand, stroking, stroking, on the sight of John's wet, pouty lips when he pulls away to lick them, grinning up at Rodney before going back down, down. _Oh, dear God._ And then, in the midst of a shattering orgasm, pleasure flooding Rodney's limbs and heart and brain, a single bright epiphany strikes him— _of course! John! John is the interface to the black box_ —before Rodney sinks back with a happy whimper. 

Swiping his wrist over his mouth, John throws himself beside Rodney and turns his head to smirk at him. "Not so cranky now, huh?"

Rodney croaks, "We have to get to the chair room right away."

John gives him a cock-eyed look. "Uh. Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Oh, please." Rodney waves his hand. "Don't tell me you haven't already come in your pants three times today from flying that ridiculous contraption. But this is science! Science needs you!"

"Uh-huh." John stretches lazily and runs his hand down to pop open the buttons on his pants. "It really, really does," he says, reaching into his shorts and pulling out his hard, blood red cock. 

Rodney's mouth goes a little dry. "Well, I suppose, in the interest of scientific impartiality..." He bows to the inevitable with a certain undeniable enthusiasm.

After all, it really has been a long day.

 

...................................  
September 17, 2014  
San Francisco, CA


End file.
